Pirates By Request
by geekmama
Summary: A series of ficlets written as replies to the Drabble-Ficlet Request Meme on Live Journal. They're all Disney's: I'm just playing with them.
1. Diversity

Requested by Hereswith: James/Anamaria - Anamaria's POV - some mention of the contrast between Jack's hair and James's near-shaved head.

* * *

**_- Diversity -  
_**

He didn't wake when she sat by him, perching on the edge of the narrow cot, so she set the glass carefully on the floor, and looked her fill for a change. His bright fever-flush had ebbed to pale relief. He was mending, as Jack had predicted.

Treating that wound had sure taken the starch out of him, though. His face was etched with the memory of it. A brave man, the Scourge of Piracy.

Covered only with a sheet, he looked so thin and drawn she could count his bones. They'd thrown his wig to the sharks, and his short brown hair lay lank against his forehead.

So different from Jack's.

Anamaria frowned, and reached up, and lightly stroked it back. And then started: his eyes were open.

"Sorry!"

His voice rasped, wearily. "No."

"I've brought your draught."

She started to reach for it, but one hand flailed, catching hers.

"No. I… don't want to be drugged."

His eyes pleaded, and she smiled. "It's water, sweetened with rum, is all, this time."

He sighed, retaining the hand. Then drew her fingers against his lips. "My good nurse," he murmured.

Her breath stuttered.

Not so different from Jack, after all.


	2. Give Me A Hand

Requested by Berne: Jack/Gibbs - Friendship - Gibbs' POV.

* * *

_**- Give Me A Hand -** _

Hands tell a lot about a man.

Stained with ink and tar and dirt, Sparrow's were coaxing pictures from thin air, illustrations for his story, luring every eye in the place with those fluttering, fine-boned fingers: the hands of an actor.

Gibbs watched a while, then pulled himself to his feet. Womanless, and a might well-to-live, he took himself off. A half moon was rising as he made his way back to the harbor. He was mostly there when an alley extruded ill-fortune. Bricks slammed at his back, a knife bit his throat, and foul breath wrinkled his nose.

"Your purse, old man."

"Who's old?" Gibbs muttered. Disinclined to argue much with a knife, he resigned himself. But then there was a violent bump, his neck was scratched, the leech was dislodged, and Gibbs hit the ground.

"That's not very nice."

The familiar velvet growl, and those hands again, one twisting the leech's shirt front, hard, the other shortening a sword for the thrust home: the hands of a fighter.

The knife clattered on the cobbles. Sparrow sparked gold and madness.

Given the chance, the miscreant scampered, right quick.

Sparrow turned, and offered one of those hands. "All right, then?"

Gibbs couldn't help staring. All silver and shadows in the moonlight. Damned if he wasn't prettier than the lasses back at the Bride. But his grip was firm and work-rough: the hands of a sailor.

Gibbs brushed the dirt from his breeches. "I owe you, Jack Sparrow."

"You've heard of me!" That golden grin again. "It's Captain Jack Sparrow. Sadly shipless at present, however. I could use a ship."

"I've got a ship. Already has a captain. He's lookin' for a navigator, though."

"Is he, now?" He considered this briefly, one long finger at his chin. "Per'aps you could put in a word for me humble self."

_Humble_. Gibbs chuckled. "Oh, reckon I could, lad, seeing as ye saved me bacon."

Jack cocked his head in the moonlight. "I'm no more a lad than you, Gibbs, but as for your bacon, think nothin' of it. Entirely at your service."

"Are ye now?" Gibbs thrust out a hand. "It's Josh, to me mates."

Jack took the proffered hand. "Josh then," he said, and shook on it.

The hand of a friend.


	3. Seconds

For Aradiria : Norrington/Elizabeth - Elizabeth introspective, comparing Will to James

* * *

_**  
- Seconds -** _

The morning after, Elizabeth awoke to birdsong, his warmth and scent close around her, and a feeling of tenuous, but very real, well-being. She did not move, merely lay breathing, and thinking.

How different it had been than she'd imagined. She had thought him cold. That, in marrying him, she would never be warm again.

No more the beloved odors of smoke and sweat, no more straining, desperate blacksmith's hands and cries in the night. Will had been her dream of love from childhood, and if their reality had been somewhat less than dreamlike, it had also been, ultimately, dearer to her heart than she had ever hoped.

She hadn't thought to marry again. But her father had advised her to do so, and, to her surprise, James had still wanted her, even at second hand. He'd not put it that way, of course. Always the gentleman, was James. There were no stolen kisses, no impulsive declarations. It appeared to her that he still held her in mild affection, in spite of all they'd been through. She was still "a fine woman".

She had wondered how she could go through with it. But the days passed, the day arrived, and she had. Her hand freezing as he'd placed the ring on it. No unseemly piratical guests at the breakfast. Then the long, almost silent carriage ride, through the rain and green, along mud-slick roads. They hadn't reached the inn until nine o'clock, and it had still been pouring rain. But they'd dashed from the carriage into golden, welcoming light, and as they were greeted by the innkeeper and his lady, Elizabeth began to warm again with their care and under James' half-smile. Perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult, after all.

There had been some awkwardness at dinner. Small-talk seemed as inappropriate as the bare truth.

"I'll give you a few minutes, shall I?" he said, finally. She thought there was a tremor in the calm voice…but perhaps she was mistaken.

"Yes," she replied.

He returned, wigless and covered only in a rich dressing gown. She was similarly attired, her hair brushed, and she was standing on the hearthrug, looking into the fire. She had looked up as he came to her. How young he looks, she remembered thinking.

She had tried to smile, to put them both at ease, but the smile had faded and she had swallowed hard as he came close and looked down at her.

"It's all right," he said, softly. To assure her, or himself?

And then his eyes, as he'd tugged the sash of her dressing gown loose; the slight crease between his brows as he looked at her, and touched her that first time.

She hadn't been breathing, and when she finally did, his name came to her lips in a little gasp. "James!"

His eyes held hers, as his hands slid 'round her waist.

She had maintained outward calm for a while, until finally, kneeling, he'd set his lips to the tender skin at the crease between her leg and hip.

It occurred to her that the innkeeper and his wife had shown remarkable forethought in providing them with such a luxuriant hearthrug.

**o-o-o **

He placed a kiss on her nose, and she opened her eyes.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice gentle.

She felt herself blushing, like a young girl, but said, slowly, "I was thinking of our vows, yesterday. _With my body I thee worship_."

"Ah. And did you think I would not?"

She whispered, "I don't know what I thought."

He kissed her, before his voice came, soft against her lips, "Then you must let me show you, again, what to think."


	4. Leniency

Requested by Elessil: Norrington/anyone or no one prompt: "personal honor"

* * *

**_- Leniency -  
_**

"Sir! You're letting him have the run of the ship?"

There was obvious disapproval in the tone, and Norrington stiffened slightly. "Mr. Gillette, you are out of order!"

"But…but sir! He's a…_pirate!_ You said yourself—"

"I know what I said, Mr. Gillette." His lieutenant began again to protest, but Norrington cut him off. "That will be all, Gillette. Sparrow will be hanged in due course. In the meantime, we will give him such freedom as may be had on a vessel armed to the teeth and fully manned with the King's finest. You may go."

Gillette gobbled slightly, but remembered himself at last. He saluted briefly, and took himself off, though he gave Sparrow a searing look as he passed him on deck.

Sparrow, who had been leaning on the rail, watching the sea, and the island, now far behind them, straightened and watched Gillette disappear below-decks, then turned to face Norrington. For a moment, the two looked at each other. Natural enemies. An uneasy, and very temporary truce.

Norrington's brow quirked, and then he turned away.

As he walked back to the quarterdeck, he thought of Elizabeth. Now his betrothed. He wondered if she had any real understanding of how fortunate she had been in Sparrow. After helping her gain the shore, he had apparently behaved in an almost gentlemanly manner for the duration of their sojourn on that island.

A very odd sort of pirate.

Yes. The irons, and the brig could wait. And the hanging: that could wait too.

They'd all come, soon enough.


	5. Two Men Walk Into A Bar

Requested by Celandineb: Will, prompt: "aversion", any time post-film.

**_

* * *

_**

**_Two Men Walk Into A Bar…_**

"We'd best stick to ale, Jack."

"Elizabeth, eh? You think she'd object to us comin' home three sheets to the wind, then?"

Will grinned, ruefully, and steered his notorious friend to a table in a comfortably secluded corner. "I do. She's been cooking all day. A surprise for my birthday."

"Cooking! Your bonny bride can cook? Wouldn't have thought it."

"The Governor's cook is teaching her. Results have been mixed, so far, but he's helping her, this time."

"You relieve my mind of a great weight," said Jack, very seriously.

Will grinned.

"What'll it be gentlemen?" The tavern keeper's wife, a respectable-looking matron in mobcap and apron, beamed down at them.

"Ale, Mrs. Fitch, and thanks!" said Will.

"Ale, by all means!" Jack agreed, then, fixing the lady with a suggestive smile, added, "And would that crock on the counter happen to hold what I think it does?"

He was rewarded with a coy look that sat oddly on the motherly face. "It does indeed! Me own pickled onions!"

"Famous throughout the region!" Jack extolled. "We'll have a dish of those as well, if we may."

"By all means!" said Mrs. Fitch, preening. "I must say, it's always a pleasure to serve a real gentleman.." And then, she chuckled, and looked at Will. "_Two_ gentlemen! Although it seems just yesterday you were a skinny little lad nippin' about on Mr. Brown's errands. How the years fly!"

Shaking her head, she took herself off, and Will stared at Jack. His clothes were less unkempt than they'd been when the two had first met, but other than that he could hardly be mistaken for anything but a rogue. "How do you _do_ that?" Will demanded.

Jack grinned, eyelids drooping. "Pirate!"

"That's no answer!"

"It's precisely the answer!" Jack retorted, impatient with Will's obtuseness. "It's all part o' the game, lad, knowin' how to get 'round folk: what pleases 'em, an' all. Smoothes the way, considerably, I can tell you. Mrs. Fitch, now, she's been makin' those pickled onions, accordin' to 'er great grandmam's receipt, since Fitch opened this place—an' that'd be before you were more'n a twinkle in your da's eye. It's little enough trouble to show an appropriate appreciation of the lady's efforts, ain't it?"

Will shook his head. "Do you ever do _anything_ without an ulterior motive?"

Jack made a show of considering this, but then shook his head. "No, not really." But then he grinned again, when Will laughed.

Presently, Mrs. Fitch returned with a tray holding two foaming mugs, a plate of sliced, crusty bread slathered with butter, and a bowl of the famed pickled onions. "Here you go, gentlemen!"

"Mrs. Fitch, you've outdone yourself!" said Jack. "A toast to our hostess, Will!"

"Hear, hear!" agreed Will, and clanked his mug with Jack's.

"Get on with you, now!" said Mrs. Fitch, but looked immensely pleased. Jack winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, blushing like a girl as she turned away.

Jack sat back chuckling, and picked up one of the onions. "Fine as pearls, mate. Have some!" He popped it in his mouth.

Will wrinkled his nose slightly, one eye on the retreating matron. "No, thanks," he said quietly. "I've an aversion to onions, I'm afraid."

"An _aversion_!" Jack washed the onion down with a gulp of ale. "Sounds serious," he remarked. "Oh, well. More for me, then."

,-,-

The two friends were a trifle well-to-live when they bid Mrs. Fitch and her husband adieu, some time later, but the subsequent trek to Will and Elizabeth's little house, did much to expurgate any lingering effects of their sojourn at the tavern.

And yet Will sounded a little over-enthused when he exclaimed to his beloved, "Elizabeth! Look who's come for my birthday!"

"Jack!"

Elizabeth's wide smile was contagious, and Jack took off his hat and swept her a graceful bow. "At your service!"

"You received my message, then!" she laughed, curtseying in return. But then she popped up and came to embrace him, grinning even wider at his slight look of surprise at such an effusive greeting. "I'm so happy you arrived in time! Cook has been helping me make a wonderful dinner. There are several dishes I'd never have attempted, otherwise."

"I'm all agog to see what you have for us," said Jack, with a glance at Will, who seemed to find this extremely funny and was at pains not to laugh.

But Elizabeth turned to Will, embracing him, next, and said, "Oh, I have been working very hard all day! You have only to ask cook. Now go and wash up—it's all ready, and I am most anxious to see what you think."

Presently, Jack, Will, and Elizabeth sat down at the dining table.

"This first course is one of my favorite dishes," said Elizabeth, "and look at the lovely wine we have to go with it—Father sent it over, before he left on his journey. He was so sorry he had to miss your birthday, Will."

The Governor's butler, Beck, poured Will a glass of excellent claret, and the kitchen maid put a wedge of steaming pie on his plate. "It smells delicious!" Will remarked, and watched Jack and Elizabeth being served. "What is it?"

"It's an Onion and Cheddar Tart!" Elizabeth said happily. "I had the cheese imported especially for your birthday—just like Jack!—and I've been working for days to learn to make a crust like this. Isn't it lovely?"

Will stared at his piece of tart, and managed to look past the browned shreds of onion and amber cheese on top to note the careful fluting of the pastry edge. "It looks wonderful, sweetheart," he managed.

"Ma'am!" interrupted the kitchen maid. "Cook said to tell you he would appreciate your advise in the kitchen, if you would."

"Oh! Oh, yes!" said Elizabeth, and smiled at her husband, and at Jack. "I'll just be a moment, I'm sure."

She bustled off into the kitchen, followed by the servants, and Will and Jack were momentarily alone.

"An _aversion_, eh?" said Jack, not quite laughing.

"Good God! What am I going to do?" hissed Will. "It's not funny! _Onion Pie_!"

"Of course it's funny," grinned Jack. "And if you want my advise, you'd better get over your _aversion_ right quick, or I'll wager, come bedtime, someone's going to suddenly recollect some _aversions_ of her own. Savvy?"


	6. Questionable Virtue

Requested by Fabu: J/E, prompt: "Every devil I meet is an angel in disguise" (courtesy of the Indigo Girls)

* * *

_** Questionable Virtue** _

"Jack…"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know what my old nurse used to tell me? Back in England, when I was small."

"Can't say as I do."

"She used to say, _Every devil I meet is an angel in disguise_."

There was no reply for a minute, just closed eyes and even breathing. Elizabeth curled even closer to his warmth, and set her hand over his heart, smiling at its now slow and steady beat.

He finally took a deep breath, and caught the hand in his, giving it a slight squeeze. "Sounds as though she'd more hair than wit, your nurse." He cracked one eye and turned his head enough to look at her. "You're not crediting _me_ with any of this angelic virtue?"

She managed a straight face. "Should I not?"

He closed his eyes again. "Good God, no. Thought you'd know better by now. But p'rhaps another demonstration of my ruthless self-interest is in order." A smile touched his lips at her little shiver of anticipation. Then her hand loosed itself and slid south, renewing close acquaintance with skin, muscle, and bone, and the smile was erased as his breath caught.

He opened his eyes to look into hers as she pushed herself up on one elbow, and found angels and devils, both, reflected back at him.

She said, "I believe you're right. You must show me, again," and set her lips to his.


	7. Apprehension

Written for Cjk1701: Norrington solo or Norrington/somebody – prompt: "tense".

* * *

**_ Apprehension _**

There were lowered voices, and the sounds of preparations being made; the faint sea motion felt through the table… the sole… the hull of the _Black Pearl_; and above all that, the cacophony of the pain in his leg, which he expected would presently rise to deafen him, would likely undo him. He hoped he would not shame himself. He hoped he would live.

He very much wished himself elsewhere.

"Here. Sit up, a bit, and drink this, Commodore."

James just had time to open his eyes at Jack's command before he was being helped to raise himself and a vial was set to his lips and its contents tilted ruthlessly down his throat. The bitterness of it was only partially masked with some kind of sweetening, and he made a horrid face, and gulped thankfully at the rum and water he was given by way of a chaser.

"What was that?" he gasped, when he could.

"Laudanum. Would've thought you'd had it before, considering a couple of those scars you've kept hidden under that uniform."

"The navy's doctors are wary of drugging their patients," James said, carefully. Pointedly.

Jack was undisturbed. Of course. "Hmmph!" he said, "Fortunate you're with us an' not them, then, ain't it?"

The light words and cocked brow almost masked the concern in the dark eyes. James, already feeling tendrils of relief beginning to curl through him, replied, "It would seem so." He closed his eyes again, but then smiled at the brief touch of a warm hand on his own.

o-o-o


	8. The Road to the Sea

Requested by Ballincolliq: Jack as a child, watching ships on the Thames.

* * *

**_The Road to the Sea_**

Hampered by incessant rain and its attendant mud, the carriage ride to London had taken three seemingly interminable days. The boy, contrary to expectation, had barely uttered a word in all that time, save the minimal communications required by the dictates of common courtesy. Not at all as John had described him: a gregarious, half-grown imp, smart as a whip, and mischievous enough to warrant liberal application of same at regular intervals. He did, however, look very like his mother, that beautiful, unfortunate young woman, caught in Wainfleet's toils at eighteen, and now dead at thirty, along with a second son. Both mother and infant brother buried not a week before. It had poured rain that day, too, John had said.

Not a week before. And then sent away with a virtual stranger. No wonder the boy kept silence.

The sodden countryside was finally giving way to signs of civilization again, outliers of the city, a graceless, unattractive change for the most part. The boy's face grew pinched, and he turned away from the window and closed his eyes. Pretending to be asleep, poor lad. But then, after a while, pretense turned to reality, and the slight figure slumped into the corner, the fine brow temporarily smoothed of care.

o-o-o

"Jack! Jack, lad: wake up! We've arrived."

The dark eyes with their too-long lashes fluttered open, and the boy sat up abruptly, shaken.

Hardison gave the boy a gruff pat on his shoulder. "We're here. Come and see."

They were at a height a little above the Thames, and Hardison had to smile himself at the view, as though it were new again. The docks were before them, bristling with masts, and humming with the activity of seamen and other laborers. There were vessels of all sizes on the wide river, as well, and the great ship _Devon's Pride_ was taking advantage of the freshening breeze and ebbing tide to edge away and begin its journey down to the sea. On the opposite bank, the city was laid out, fascinating and almost attractive at this distance. And the rain had stopped, the clouds were breaking, and the resulting gold of the westering sun laid a glow of magic over everything.

Bloody made to order.

Hardison glanced down to see what effect this was having on his companion. He was gratified to see that the boy's eyes were round as saucers as he took it all in, and that an answering glow of amazed delight was dawning on the formerly somber countenance.

But then, remembrance prodded the lad, and he frowned, hesitating, though his eyes were still drawn outward.

"Jack," said Hardison, sharply.

The boy dragged his troubled gaze from the alluring scene. "Sir?"

Hardison's eyes held his companion's with the ease of one long-used to command. He said, very seriously, "Your mother would want you to take happiness where you find it."

The boy, swallowed hard, and then seemed to grope for words. Finally he found two. "I forgot."

Hardison shook his head. "You won't forget, lad. Not really."

Jack looked away, back to the river, and after a time he saw again what was before him. He pointed, suddenly. "Is that your ship, sir?"

"Aye, it is. And it's your ship, now. You ready to make her acquaintance?"

The boy straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Aye. And…and thank you."

Hardison hid a smile, and said, "That's _Thank you, Captain_, boy. And you'd best not forget that, either."

o-o-o


	9. After The Kiss

Requested by Kahva: Will, theme: "heroes"

* * *

**_- After The Kiss -_**

"Elizabeth," he whispered, his dark head bending to hers.

"How good it is to hear you say it at last!" She drew away and studied his handsome face, now full of satisfaction and confidence. A man's face.

"I always said it, in my heart," he said, simply.

"From the moment we met?"

He smiled. "I believe you knew that."

She had the grace to blush. "Perhaps."

To cool her cheeks, she looked out from the parapet, to the dazzling sea and the Black Pearl, now an object of beauty, rather than fear, her new sails spread to the winds, her rightful captain at the helm, making her majestic way out of the bay, to the open sea, and freedom.

All as it should be.

She turned to Will, admiration in her eyes. "You saved him!"

Will tried to turn it off. "_Pirate!_"

She shook her head. "No. More than that. _Hero_."

He shook his head, and gazed out at the ship. "My father loved him, though he couldn't save him from the mutiny, it seems. But they put my father to death, anyway, for supporting him." Will looked at Elizabeth: his treasure. "And it was through his efforts that we are here now. What else could I have done?"

"Nothing. And you risked everything to do it, to do what was right. That is the part of a hero." When she saw he would still dispute the assertion, she added, "No more arguments! You know I am right!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, in a meek little voice, but smiled at the tiny gasp she made as he pulled her close, and kissed her once more.

o-o-o


	10. Point of View

Requested by Teresa C: Jack/Elizabeth Elizabeth's disillusionment with her childhood fantasy about pirates.

* * *

**_ Point of View _**

Jack took another deep swig of rum, wiped his mouth and looked at his fair companion, seated next to him on the sand. Coltish, beautiful, petulant. He'd lay he could wipe that frown away, though, given half a chance. Not that he'd be given it, of course, unless the drink took her out of herself. And if it did, would he take the chance? He thought about it, thought about slipping an arm 'round those slender shoulders, thought about placing a kiss on lips that were slightly parted in adorable confusion, thought about touching…

"What are you looking at?" she demanded, suddenly, having noticed his perusal.

"You, of course," he replied, easily. He took another swig, then looked again, sidelong.

"Well, don't! It isn't polite."

He chuckled. "Polite! Just who is it you think you're marooned with, here, Miss Swann?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow!" she snapped. "Or so you say."

He scowled a bit at the note of doubt. "The one in that bloody pamphlet I suppose."

"Do _not_ use profanity! You told me there was truth in those stories."

"There is. Some of it." He took another drink, and then noticed she was looking _him_ over, with obvious disapproval. "What?"

"You don't look like him at all!"

"Like who?"

"There was an illustration."

Jack stared, and then growled, "I don't bloody care if there was a bloody marble statue! If it don't look like me, it's artist's fault, not mine!" There was amusement in her eyes, and he narrowed his and took another swig of rum.

"Did you really steal the _Interceptor_? With James right there?"

"James?"

"Capt—Commodore Norrington."

"Oh. Did Will tell you that?"

"Yes. Among other things."

"Well, I didn't."

The amusement was wiped from her face. "You didn't?"

He shook his head. "No. _Commandeered _it. Nautical term." As understanding dawned on her face, he added, "It's all in how you look at it. Savvy?"

A slow smile touched her lips. "Oh, yes. I savvy." She lifted her bottle. "Cheers, Captain Sparrow."

"Cheers, Miss Swann," he returned, his bottle not so much clinking as caressing hers.

o-o-o


	11. The Parting Glass

Requested by Erinya: Jack/Elizabeth or Norrington/Elizabeth missing scene, set during the return of the Dauntless to Port Royal in the movie. True to form, I chose J/E.

* * *

**_ The Parting Glass _**

It was some time 'til the end of the middle watch, and sleep held most souls captive aboard the _Dauntless_. As it turned out, this included the brig's lone guard, snoring gently in the dim light of the one small lantern. The corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitched against a grim smile: it was well for her, of course, but if James discovered this lack of diligence, the young man might pay dearly.

Steeling herself, she entered the dreadful space. She had not come here before. Those of Barbossa's men who had survived the battle were packed into these two bigger cells near the door, and she certainly had no wish ever to see them again, or for them to see her. Needs must, however: her goal lay past them. She could feel eyes upon her—they were not all asleep. But, to her relief, there were no sounds save those natural to men at rest. She moved on, into deeper shadows.

It was the last cell. The light of the sentry's lantern nearly failed here, and Jack's shape was barely discernable in the gloom. But he was awake.

He rose with silent grace and crossed to her. "What are you doing here, Miss Swann?" he asked in voice meant for her ears alone.

She wanted to reach through the grate and touch him. Instead, she said, rather gruffly, "I've brought you something." She reached into an inner pocket of the red coat and drew out the silver flask, handing it to him.

There was a flash of white and gold, visible even in the gloom. "What's this, then?" he asked, pulling the stopper.

"Rum."

With a minimum of fuss, he set the flask to his lips and took a drink. "Ah! Mother's milk," he said, voice still soft. "It's good. Where'd you get it?"

"From James, of course."

There was a small, surprised silence. Then, "Oh. Of course. Don't suppose he knows?"

"Oh, no."

He chuckled, took another, deeper drink, then said, provocatively, "You should be spanked. But I don't suppose he would."

She successfully stifled a bark of shocked laughter, and said, with mock indignation, "Of course not!" Then, after the briefest of pauses, she asked suspiciously, "Would you?"

"Of course not. I'd kiss you."

She nodded, and watched him drink again.

Pausing once more, he wiped his lips on his sleeve. "My sincere thanks, Miss Swann," he said, quite seriously.

_Miss Swann_. "It's Elizabeth. And I would it had been the key!" He stared, and she added, bitterly, "I tried to get it, you know."

"You didn't!"

"I did! But… but I couldn't." A warm hand touched hers where it held the grate. Half choking she said, "I have spoken… _begged_ my father, and James. They will do nothing. And Will… he stands at the rail and looks to the sea, and asks what one man can do?"

"A home question," Jack remarked, his voice light.

Her hand turned and gripped his. "If I were a man, I'd show him what one man can do!"

He squeezed back, briefly. "You'd make a fine pirate, love."

"Would I?" She took a deep breath, withdrew her hand, and her voice was less strained as she said, "Be careful, Captain. If fate intervenes, I may hold you to that."

He nodded, and raised the little flask once more. "Here's to fate, then, eh?"

o-o-o


	12. Heavenscent

Written for three different challenges:

1. Black Pearl Sails Drabble Challenge for the week: _Breath or_ _Breathing_

2. Fabu's Chinese Menu Challenge: _One from Column A: a storm at sea—Two from Column B: Jack and Elizabeth—Three from Column C: ship, a jar of pleasantly scented oil, and pie._

3. Drabble/Ficlet Request Meme: For Miya Sparrow, who requested Jack/Pearl.

**o-o_ Heavenscent _o-o**

There was something odd about the light.

Jack stirred, and reluctantly submitted to waking. He took a deep, slow breath and could not stop the smile that tipped the corners of his mouth at the combined scents that teased him: vanilla and coconut (that jar of heaven-scented oil had rarely seen such heavenly use); Elizabeth (heaven-scented herself, truly); and the sea's breath, lightly gusting through the window they'd left partially open.

Faint shipboard activity could be heard, and the _Pearl's_ sounds coalesced, tugging at him.

Elizabeth's head lay heavy on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her knee between his, her body warm all along his side.

Heaven.

Even if his arm was asleep.

Another waft of sea air, and he breathed deep again. Time to get up.

He opened his eyes. Hair the color of antique gold spread curling over her. Beautiful, though thankfully not long enough to hide other beauties: the dip of trim waist; the perfection of that rounded backside (had he put that mark there?); the strong, slender legs, the elegant ankles and fine-boned, pink feet. All of them delicious. A feast for the senses.

Heaven.

The breeze gusted again, more demandingly, and the _Pearl_ sang in response. He turned his head: the light _was_ odd, casting beams over the floor, making the tarnished tray and the crumbs from the half-eaten pasties glow like treasure.

So that was it.

All right.

"'Liz'beth?" he said softly. He stroked her smooth cheek very lightly with one calloused finger.

She stirred against him. Opened her eyes (wonderful! And calm, now. A wave of remembrance and satisfaction washed through him). Moved her head, so she could see him, her lips curving.

He said, gently, "_Pearl's_ calling me, love. Have to get up."

She pouted and curled into him, but then looked around, and saw what was happening, heard the faint but boding resonance.

She looked at him again. "A storm?"

"Aye. Another one."

She smiled at that. Her hand drifted over his chest. "I'll come too, shall I?"

It occurred to him that, unthinkable as he'd considered it, his _Pearl_ had a rival here. Or a match, maybe. A happiness too deep for words or smiles, in any case. So he said only, "I'd like that," and kissed her, just once more.

Always just once more.

**o-o-o**


	13. The One That Got Away

_** The One That Got Away**_

The peg-legged tavern keeper came to clear the table, and Jack, though somewhat distracted by the assets of the wench seated upon his knee, addressed him as good manners dictated.

"Thanks, Sharkbait. Much obliged."

"'ow'd you get the name, Sharkbait?" the wench made bold to ask. "Was it a shark as got your leg, then?"

"Aye," said Sharkbait, cheerfully. "Years ago it were, when I sailed with the _Chimera_, fellas accused me o' stealin' – though it were a damned lie, weren't it? -- pardon me French. Sentenced to be hauled: drug behind the ship a ways. Came close to drownin', an' then a shark was a-comin' so they pulled me in quick-like, but not quick enough. Bugger snapped me leg right off at the knee." Sharkbait snapped his own teeth together and made a fierce swallowing sound, then grinned at the wench, who was now wide-eyed and decidedly green about the gills.

"You're alive to tell of it, though," Jack observed.

"That I am, Captain. An' happy to be here, too. Another mug fer you an' the lady?"

"What do you think, darlin'?" asked Jack, giving the trim waist a squeeze. "You're lookin' a mite peeked."

"I… I think I could use a drink."

"That's the spirit! Another round for me an' the lady."

"Comin' right up," said Sharkbait, and added as he stumped away, "Funny how that story brings out the thirst in folks."

**o-o-o**


	14. Dark Encounter

**_ Dark Encounter _**

In the blind night, James woke to soft cries of distress.

"Elizabeth!" He caught at her, where she flailed beside him, in the grip of some nightmare. For a moment she struggled, but then his voice seemed to reach her. She stilled, then allowed him to gather her into his arms. "It was only a dream," he murmured against her hair.

"Yes." She shuddered, and clung to him. He soothed her with hands and lips, and after a little while was rewarded with a deep sigh, and a kiss. Then she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. What was it? Can you tell me?"

She hesitated, and he brushed another kiss against her forehead, and did not press her. But at last she told him. "It was the dog."

He knew what she meant. Taking a walk after supper, the thing had lunged at them from where it was chained in the yard of one Thomas Greeley, reputed miser. Elizabeth had been uncharacteristically shaken by the encounter.

"Shall I confront Greeley? The thing is dangerous—or would be, if not chained."

"No…I mean…you will do as you think best. But in my dream…"

He kissed her cheek, then prompted, "Yes?"

"Oh, James. It became…Barbossa. That second night, when he revealed to me what he was. What they all were."

She shuddered again, and he held her close.

But she went on. "He was chained, too. By the curse."

"Yes." He stroked her hair. "It was so long ago."

"Not long enough."

They were silent, then, together, for a time, until finally she drew back, and he knew she was trying to see him in the blackness. Her hands moved over him, in a pattern that was becoming deliciously familiar. She asked him, "Will you help me forget?"

He replied, "Of course, sweetheart. I am, as always, entirely at your service." His tone was light, and he felt her smile. But God knew the words were the unvarnished truth.

**o-o-o **


	15. Sweet Pilgrimage

**_ Sweet Pilgrimage_**

A Sequel to _'Diversity'_ (Story 1 in _'Pirates By Request'_)  
Written for Hendercats, who wanted Norrington, prompt: Mermaid picture, by Waterhouse

**_

* * *

_**

GO and catch a falling star,  
Get with child a mandrake root,  
Tell me where all past years are,  
Or who cleft the devil's foot,  
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,  
Or to keep off envy's stinging,  
And find  
What wind  
Serves to advance an honest mind.

* * *

It irked James nearly beyond bearing to be so incapacitated. 

"I thank you, but no: I would prefer to stay here on the _Pearl_. Smythe can very well fetch me what I need while you're gone to the island."

But Jack looked down his nose at him and raised a brow. "Remind me t' ask what you prefer next time the lads vote t' make you captain. For now, you're goin' over with the rest of us."

James ground his teeth.

**o-o-o**

They used a sling to lower him carefully into the waiting cutter, a system similar to that used on naval vessels to accommodate the wounded. However, it had never fallen to _his_ lot before, and he was stone-faced with chagrin.

Their landing was easy enough. It was a quiet bay, the lap of wavelets and the crunch of sand the only sounds as they reached the shore. But then the two burly lads Jack had assigned to assist him managed to jostle him in doing so, and he was surprised into a hiss of pain. Jack flung a short, sharp rebuke at the pair. All apologies, the two transferred James to the stretcher without further mishap, and he closed his eyes, intently wishing himself otherwhere. He gave no sign when Jack briefly gripped his shoulder in sympathy.

Feigned sleep gave way to unfeigned, as the plaguey exhaustion common to invalids overtook him yet again.

**o-o-o**

He woke as they reached the forest clearing, its thermal spring bubbling in a wide pool. It _was_ beautiful, just as Jack had promised: cool shade and dabbled sun blessed the sand and grass that led toward the water, which was edged with ferns and reeds, and a few large boulders. They helped him to rise, and, with the aide of a stout stick, he hobbled over to settle on one of the latter. He watched Jack direct his men in setting up a temporary camp, a surfeit of ill-gotten riches and piratical luxury.

When they were nearly finished, Jack came to him and swept an arm. "What d' you think?"

Norrington's mouth twisted. "What if it rains?"

Jack's brows rose. He gave a theatrically suspicious glance at the sky, and then shook his head. "Wouldn't dare." He held out a beringed hand. "Come! Your couch awaits."

Norrington surveyed said couch, a mass of soft blankets, colorful fabrics, and many pillows. "I'm unlearned in the ways of a sybarite," he said, coolly, though he immediately felt churlish.

But Jack chuckled. "You're a quick study in most things. I feel sure this ain't beyond your capacity. Come. It'll do you good."

James gave a slight snort of derision at that last, words he'd heard far too often in recent weeks, usually just before enduring some excruciating procedure, or being coaxed to swallow some horrid curative. However, he took the proffered hand, and refrained from further comment.

**o-o-o**

Jack and the other men took themselves off, leaving him with Anamaria. "She likes this place," Jack had told him. "Likes to wash her clothes in all that fresh water, and take a bit of a bathe. We come here pretty regular. It ain't just you that's brought us."

Ana's rather surly mien had eased with the departure of the others, and now she knelt beside him. "You all set? Jack'll be back in a while, and we'll help you into the water. It'll do you a world o' good, believe me."

"You know from experience?" James asked, his eyes flicking down her compact form before he could stop himself.

"Aye. And I know that testy feeling, too, when you're on the mend and want to be up and doing, but still so damn weak you tire at the least thing."

James flushed in consternation that she had seen through his attempts to hide 'that testy feeling' behind good manners and reticence. She grinned at his discomfiture, and he gave a rueful smile. "My apologies, ma'am."

"Accepted. But there's no need." She laid a light hand against his shoulder, a gentler echo of Jack's reassurance; then rose gracefully and busied herself with her laundry.

He found himself quite content merely to lie upon his opulent sickbed and watch her.

**o-o-o**

After a while, Jack came back with a good report of the hunting party.

"There's plenty of game, and some crack shots among the lads. We'll feast by the shore tonight! I've left them to it, and told 'em all to stay away from here 'til sunset." He grinned down at James. "Time to take a swim, mate."

**o-o-o**

The unavoidable intimacies of the sickroom were one thing. The casual decadence of this equivalent of a Roman bath was something else entirely.

Particularly considering the presence of the lady.

As a result, there was some initial awkwardness, on his own account, and a little on Anamaria's. Jack, of course, shucked his clothing with an air of complete unconcern, quite at ease with his body's appearance (as well he might be). Yet there was sufficient laughter and care between them all to dispel James's ambivalence. And then, when they'd helped him into the water…well, there was no denying that Jack and Anamaria had spoken the truth about that, too: the heat and bubbling currents, and the ease of movement that the water imparted, were a complete delight.

"Told you so," Jack smirked.

"You did indeed," James replied.

"You should trust me by now."

"_Pirate?_"

"Aye, of course. But there's pirates an' pirates_."_

Jack was waiting for his concession. And, after considering the events of these last weeks, James could not find it in him to disappoint.

It was a memorable hour and did, indeed, do him a great deal of good, both in body and soul.

**o-o-o**

Afterwards, they sunned themselves a while. Then he was made to move into the shade, while Anamaria resumed her washing, and Jack dressed and loped off to check on his crew and his ship.

James slept, deeply.

**o-o-o**

He dreams of the sea, and its creatures, lithe and strong, and perfectly beautiful. Silver scales, silver tide, silver-foam waves breaking on a beach of moonlit white. He remembers now what he felt as a boy, the simple, heart-breaking essence of it, stirring his blood, filling his mind with thanks, and with joy. And peace.

**o-o-o**

Someone was humming, low and melodiously. His eyes blinked open and slowly focused on the waking world. Anamaria adorned the water's edge, sitting with her legs curled beneath her. She had apparently just bathed again, and was now combing out her hair.

A line of half-forgotten poetry came to him. He murmured, "_Teach me to hear mermaids singing._"

"John Donne."

James turned his head to find Jack stretched out beside him, peering at him from over the top of the book he'd been reading.

When James said nothing, Jack went on. "First verse of that's apt enough, but the gist of the rest… no." He looked over at Ana, and a little smile touched his lips.

James looked again, too, and nodded. "She is _a woman true and fair_."

"That she is. Pilgrimage was a bit hard on you, though."

"Yes," said James. "But ultimately sweet."

**o-o-o-o-o**

* * *

**SONG**

**_By John Donne _**

GO and catch a falling star,  
Get with child a mandrake root,  
Tell me where all past years are,  
Or who cleft the devil's foot,  
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,  
Or to keep off envy's stinging,  
And find  
What wind  
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,  
Things invisible to see,  
Ride ten thousand days and nights,  
Till age snow white hairs on thee,  
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,  
All strange wonders that befell thee,  
And swear,  
No where  
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,  
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;  
Yet do not, I would not go,  
Though at next door we might meet,  
Though she were true, when you met her,  
And last, till you write your letter,  
Yet she  
Will be  
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

**o-o-o-o-o **


	16. Delicious Repast

Requested by Hereswith: N/E, Elizabeth seeing him in a different light, with lots of tension. This is a sequel to "Seconds" (chapter 3 of Pirates by Request).

**_

* * *

_**

**_ Delicious Repast _**

They stayed abed all that day, until early evening when they elected to dress for dinner. It was served to them in a secluded alcove of the rain-washed garden of the inn. Crystal, china, and linens were all of the best, and there were several delectable courses, though Elizabeth, languorously sated, had little appetite. James seemed concerned by this. His bride, amused, basked in his coddling and care.

When she had eaten enough to assuage his fears, he said, "That's better. You must keep up your strength."

"James!" she objected. "Am I some delicate, milk-and-water miss?"

He considered this, most thoughtfully, and a surprisingly wicked little smile touched his lips. "No. I wouldn't say that."

Fleeting glimpses of the night and day just past came to mind. It had all been of a most satisfactory nature, and yet a tremor of renewed desire now shook her to the core.

She felt herself coloring, and sat up abruptly, very straight, and then colored more at the tender mementos of their encounters. She said, faintly, "I… I find myself somewhat fatigued, actually. Shall we retire, again?"

He got up, and she stood as he came round the table to her, and she could not help giving a soft sound of relief as he took her in his arms and kissed her.

**o-o-o-o-o **


	17. Reflections in Stained Glass

This was written as an entry in the Norribeth Angstathon on Live Journal, for Yoiebear who requested James at Elizabeth and Will's wedding. Since DMC has rendered such an occurane very A/U, I set this during the wedding scene in chapter two of "Harry & the Pirate: Swann's Revenge", although famiarity with that story is not a necessity to understanding this one.

This was also composed as a reply to a challenge from the roughmagic community on Live Journal, "Three Truths and a Lie"

o-o-o-o-o-o

**_Reflections in Stained Glass _**

The pews in St. George's Cathedral, Port Royal, are every bit as hard as the ones he recalls from his boyhood days when he attended the parish church on rainy English Sabbaths, _en famille_. Caroline was an exemplary sister—there was never a peep out of her, even during the longest, dreariest homily. Not so he and Robert, however. Fidgeting, whispering, even giggling enlivened those dull mornings, in spite of the knowledge that they would very likely be summoned to the library for the dispensation of paternal retribution in the afternoon.

James shifts slightly upon the unyielding wood and winces, remembering.

Perhaps that's why he dislikes attending services of any sort. Even weddings.

It couldn't be merely the sight of his loss becoming irrevocable fact.

**o-o-o **

Elizabeth's aunt, the vivacious Henrietta, provides a pleasant distraction. Or would, had not that "old friend" arrived just in time to claim the lady's smiles and attention. James has seen such exquisites before — in London, not Jamaica. Lord, even the excessively modish Swann thinks the man a fribble.

Apricot satin coat and fitted knee breeches. Waistcoat embroidered to within an inch of its life. Snowy linen shirt and cravat, lavish with Mechlin lace. Clocked stockings. Diamond buckled shoes.

The dark head with its wealth of carefully arranged, flowing curls bends to hers and she dimples at some murmured witticism. A sidelong glance from laughing black eyes, and her unvoiced reply is far too fond.

Harry is playing with fire.

And Jack Sparrow should be thrashed.

**o-o-o **

If that wolf in sheep's clothing is all suave urbanity, his friend William Turner looks stiff as a poker, apparently stunned by good fortune and Elizabeth's beauty. As well he should be.

Still, the boy's come a long way from that morning of fog and fire when they had happened upon him, reeling from shock and exposure to the elements.

He was claimed by Elizabeth from the start. _Father left him in my charge. He bade me watch over him!_ She was most insistent, refusing to leave when they wished to question Will in private. Stubborn chit.

And stubborn boy. James can still hear the thunk of that boarding ax, and the single-minded accusation: _That's not good enough!_

Too rash.

Unfortunately, Will had been correct.

**o-o-o **

"Do you, Elizabeth Swann, take this man, William Turner…"

James breathes in sharply. He does not move, schooling his expression as she speaks her vows.

Theirs would have been a marriage of convenience, on both sides, of course. He is, and has always been, very much aware that her initial acceptance of his suit was a matter of expedience. It could not but occur that she had nothing else with which to bargain.

For his part, marriage to the governor's daughter would have been quite a feather in his cap, with advancement and wealth sure to follow.

There have been other women in his life, and there will be again. Other opportunities, ripe for the plucking.

And, after all, he never really loved her.

_Elizabeth..._

**o-o-o-o-o **


	18. First Week in Port Royal

_The first three of my Drabbles100 project. Young Will and Elizabeth, a hundred words apiece._

* * *

**1. Beginnings**

Will stayed with the Swanns that first week in Port Royal. He had a small room to himself, in the servants' wing, and Elizabeth made certain of his comfort.

"You shouldn't order the housekeeper about like that!" Will told her, dismayed.

"Nonsense. Father said I'm the lady of the house, now that mother is... is gone."

Her voice was unsteady, betraying her. She had lost her mother almost the same time his own had died, the year before. The shared grief was a bond between them.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right." She straightened, determinedly.

"It will be." He took her hand.

o-o-o-o

**2. Middles**

Long after midnight, he woke to her scratch at his door. She was barefoot, and clad in a cloud of lawn, satin, and lace. A dream, he thought, until she spoke.

"Let me in! I saved some cakes from dinner."

She squeezed past and sat herself upon his bed, unwrapped the cakes and served them up. "Four for you and four for me."

"Elizabeth... _Miss Swann!_ You shouldn't be here."

Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, all sweet mischief. "I know, _Mr. Turner_. Now come and eat."

_I'm doomed_. But he only said, "Yes, ma'am," and meekly shut the door.

o-o-o-o

**3. Ends**

"We can't leave him here, Father!"

"Elizabeth, hush."

"But can't we--"

"There shall be no more discussion!"

Elizabeth desisted, but Will saw from her mulish expression that it was a temporary respite at best.

The Governor nodded to Mr. Brown, then smiled at Will. "I know you'll make a fine smith's apprentice. I have every faith I leave you in good hands. Come, Elizabeth. Say goodbye."

Elizabeth's distress was evident. "Farewell, Will," she said. "I'll... I'll still be watching."

When they'd gone, Mr. Brown shook his head. "Cheeky chit!" he remarked.

But Will thought, _Guardian Angel_, his heart full.

o-O-o


End file.
